


sepulchre of famous men

by ayselz



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: BIG OOF, Multi, character tags to be updated as i introduce them oof, eventual spamano i promise, the dark academia au you never knew you needed, what am I even doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-08-08 11:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16428842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayselz/pseuds/ayselz
Summary: “In hindsight, Lovino should have expected something like this to happen. He should have heeded Antonio's, Gilbert's, and especially Francis' advice—he should have run away from the enigmatic, estranged little office smelling of potpourri and lavender, run far and fast that no one from the stupid club could have caught up with him.”— dark academia. eventual spamano. will explore boundaries of the author's comfort zone and will probably freak people out. gods take the wheel.





	1. the romans have no numeral for zero

In hindsight, Lovino should have expected something like this to happen. He should have heeded Antonio’s, Gilbert’s, and especially Francis’ advice—he should have run away from the enigmatic, estranged little office smelling of potpourri and lavender, run far and fast that no one from the stupid club could have caught up with him.

But that was Fate rearing its ugly head at him, at everyone. No matter how hard he wished for it now, he would never be able to erase the previous months leading to this, the delirious laughter and the seemingly endless nights of alcohol and something else, would never sever the bonds he had formed with these people. Most specifically her.

A vase flew past his vision, collided with the wall behind Arthur. The British boy didn’t even flinch. His head was hung, hair dulled gold in the late afternoon light, his pale hands shoved deep into his trench coat’s pockets.

“You all are crazy!” Nem was red in the face, eyes bloodshot, cheeks puffy. Lovino ached for him. Loss was not a pill easy to swallow. “How can you stomach sitting here, around this godforsaken table, meeting like the gods of fucking Mount Olympus, when she’s dead?” Nem was the cry baby, the one filled with childlike innocence and wonder, who usually cried over the most trivial things while the rest of them laughed at his silliness not unkindly.

Lovino grimaced involuntarily. They couldn’t laugh at Nem now. He was too young; all of them were too young to be confronted with life’s inevitable morality.

Raimonds moved for probably the first time since he had claimed his usual seat at the end of the table. His lips were thinly pressed together, yet the softness in his deep blue gaze betrayed the sorrow he felt. “Please refrain from breaking any more antiques, Nem.” Even his voice didn’t contain its usual bite. “Those are school property.”

“Do you think I still give a fuck about that?” screeched Nem.

There was a gnawing pit in between all of them. Primordial Chaos, dark and deep and imposing, the table which used to unite the Friends now serving as a gaping maw which was too wide and dangerous to cross. Palpable, resonating, permeating the air. Much like her laughter. Lovino thought he could still hear it, thought he could still distinguish her fleet-footed footsteps coming from outside the locked door, ready to knock in her eccentric, unique Morse code-like style of knocking.

It never came. He let out an exhale through his teeth.

Lovino was beginning to see, through eyes misting with unexpected tears, the youthfulness in the features of the people around him. Lucija stood behind her younger twin, radiant smile wiped from her face. Their angel: from her flighty laughter to her sweet gestures. But looking at her now only made his chest hurt. “Come to think of it, though,” she said softly, low voice carrying as gently as the aroma of incense infiltrating the air, “we were gods of Mount Olympus in her eyes.”

Nem said nothing, yet his fists curled at his sides. He would never fling a vase towards Lucija’s direction.

“Remember when she talked about the looking for the fountain of youth?” Arthur spoke up for the first time that day. His voice was hoarse from ostensible disuse. “She had so much to live for.”

Lovino remembered this particular conversation clear as day. The summer sun was bright and unforgiving and they were all cooped inside the Cirulis’ tiny summerhouse, with Lucija and Arthur arguing in the kitchen. Chesa’s cheeks were pink with early afternoon intoxication, and the moonshine inside her tall glass sloshed dangerously. “I’d look for it and drink a whole liter of its waters, so I’ll live forever!” she’d exclaimed merrily, then.

She would not.

Pyry wiped at his face. “God, I still can’t fucking believe it all,” he croaked out gently, tone pleading. Lucija wordlessly stepped toward him, leaving her brother, and wrapped both arms around his waist. Lovino stared; everyone else looked away.

The Amici Curiae was not, in fact, touched by the gods. They were not invincible.

Death could worm its way into their circle and snatch one of them.

 


	2. pre - i

Everything about the college looked and felt old. Its general aesthetic was of picturesque, hallowed institutions, which only those of the highest intellect walked and learned. Somehow, Lovino Vargas didn’t expect that Lakewood International would accept him—he’d only filed his application out of spite and impulsive retaliation to his brother Feliciano’s early acceptance into an exclusive culinary academy in Düsseldorf, so when the acceptance letter came in the mail months later, when the glossy brochure of Lakewood and its dreamlike amenities was all crumpled up and tossed in the trash bin, he was pleasantly surprised, and the smallest bit worried.

What if it was an elaborate joke, meticulously crafted to get his hopes up? Surely, someone could have sensed his unspoken desire to leave his hometown and be away from everything it stood for: away from his grandfather and parents who played favorites, away from his brothers who were always better than him at everything, no matter how he persevered, away from childhood acquaintances who drifted away because Lovino was just “too angry, too unpleasant” for their liking. It was cruel, sending him a forged acceptance letter from a prestigious, albeit a little exclusive, college, yet he was sure that it would send a certain few into hysterics.

However, all these doubts had disappeared once he stepped into his assigned dorm room. It was smaller than his old room back in the Vargas manor, furnished only with the standard bed, study desk, empty bookshelf, and a tiny corner was supposed to be a makeshift pantry of sorts, but it was enough for Lovino.

He dropped his bags by the doorway, mechanically stepped toward the drawn curtains. He pulled at them, letting warm afternoon light spill into the room. He had a view of the tiny quad two stories below, and glimpses of the other dormitory buildings. Lakewood was not exactly huge, so there were only three dormitory buildings provided for on-campus students.

Lovino stepped back from the window, took his new room in. Already he was feeling lighter, the prospect of beginning anew lightening his heart. In Lakewood no one would know him or his brothers. He found himself laughing at the hilarity of it all; a year ago he would’ve never believed that he’d be going somewhere without being in Feliciano’s shadow for once, but look at him now.

It took him about three hours to unpack his things. Too exhausted by the hours-long journey, he didn’t bother to arrange his clothes yet, and just stuffed them inside the closet. More of his things would come over the days anyway, his grandfather had insisted that he shouldn’t bring much upon moving out, they would mail the rest of his things once he’s settled in.

Classes wouldn’t begin in three days, so he would have time to sort his stuff out, given that they arrive tomorrow or the day after that. He took his shoes off, didn’t bother changing into a more comfortable shirt, just straight up jumped onto his new bed. He would phone his grandfather later, remind the old man that he needed his things as soon as possible.

Lovino fell asleep shortly.

He woke up to someone knocking on his door. It felt like someone pounding a hammer into his skull, and he had half a mind to not answer, but realizing that doing so would leave a negative impression on whoever this intruder was—and while usually Lovino would not give a damn about that, deep within him he also wanted to make a friend or two in this place—he grudgingly got up, marched toward the door in dragging steps.

A grinning blond boy in an oversized sweater which went past his wrists greeted Lovino’s blank face. “Hello! Finally someone answered! I thought I saw someone came in here and I wasn’t wrong. You came in a little late, you know, honestly, almost everyone’s been settled since mid-summer…” Lovino tuned him out after this, resisting the urge to cut in rudely and ask him why did he interrupt his rest.

He watched in borderline interest and major annoyance as the boy rambled on for a few good minutes, before ending his animated speech with a question, if Lovino was going to attend the party tonight. He had not even disclosed his name.

Lovino raised an eyebrow. “There’s a party tonight?”

Blond boy nodded excitedly, bouncing on his heels back and forth. “Oh, yes! They call it the Ripple Party, like the first ripple you make when tossing a rock into a lake? Since the school is named Lakewood, and all…the student council president will toss a pebble into the little pond in the quad, and everyone will party as a last hurrah before classes officially start.” Lovino thought he acted like a puppy, which immediately reminded him of Feliciano. He scowled instantly, which blond boy seemed to have noticed. “Won’t you go? Not interested in parties like that? But I’m told it’s fun!”

“No, it’s not that. Never mind.”

“My name is Pyry, by the way. I’m from Finland, and I’m going to major in Architecture. What about you?” Pyry had his hand out, nodding at Lovino to take it.

He did, briefly, giving it a firm shake before dropping it. “Lovino Vargas.” He didn’t care to share his hometown, nor the major he wanted to take. “Finland is far from here.”

Pyry’s grin turned bashful. “Ah, yes. I basically begged my parents to let me come here.” He began picking at a loose thread of his sweater, ducking his head down so Lovino couldn’t see his expression. “Something just called me, you feel that? That feeling when you finally step into a place you can call your home, something like that. Lakewood did that to me.”

This was too cheesy and too personal for a first encounter. Lovino cleared his throat. “Well, that’s nice. Finding a place where you belong.” The words tasted fake and forced on his tongue, but Pyry looked up with a bright smile on his face, so Lovino thought it was probably worth it. Pleasantries done, he stepped back and gripped the edge of the door. “I guess I’ll see you at the party later?”

“Sure! Do you want me to come over later, so we could walk to the quad together? I reckon you haven’t done any strolling around the campus…”

He offered a tight-lipped smile. “That would be great. I’ll see you later, Pyry.” He waited until the boy was done saying farewell, and his smile instantly vanished once he closed the door behind him. It was nice to have someone go out of their way to talk to him, Lovino would admit that, but he wasn’t entirely used to being the receiving end of social interaction that merely a few minutes of being around Pyry has drained a good part of what remained of his energy for that day.

He wondered if he would survive the Ripple Party later. Still, underneath the dread and the exhaustion, Lovino found himself looking forward to what would happen.

 

* * *

 

Pyry came over approximately two hours later, when Lovino was in the middle of digging up a long-sleeved top to throw over his shirt. The boy didn’t waste his time and immediately began talking Lovino’s ear off, going from his siblings back in Finland to his pet puppy, Hana or something, that he already thoroughly missed, and would Lovino want to see a photo of her? He grumbled a no, picked out a thin cotton sweater and put it on.

“Come on,” he said to Pyry, who was in the midst of scrolling through his phone. He looked up with a lazy smile, then nodded without a word.

Surprisingly, and to Lovino’s utmost relief, Pyry was strangely silent on their walk to the college’s main quad. He fiddled with the hem of his sweater, nibbled at his lower lip. If he even tried beginning a conversation, it eventually fell flat because Pyry himself had spaced out. Despite himself, Lovino was a little curious, and a little worried.

“Are you okay?”

Pyry perked up. “Yeah! I am!” he said, in such a forced manner that both of them grimaced at the sheer falsity of it. He offered no further explanation, and Lovino didn’t ask.

The silence carried on until they reached the main quad. Underneath the purplish dusk sky it looked like something straight out of a fairytale: cobblestone pathways cutting through trimmed grass, lamp posts washing the grounds with hazy yellowish glow, strings of fairy lights strung from one post to another and over the occasional flower bush. The students milling about, however, took the magic out of the scenery. They were all dressed in mismatched pajamas and radiated the aura of laziness to dress up, and they held bottles and cups in their hands as they roamed around.

“Woah,” gasped Pyry softly from beside him.

“Woah, indeed,” said Lovino in agreement.

“Everyone looks so relaxed.” He could practically hear the dreamy sigh in Pyry’s tone. “And at home. This is what I was telling you, Lovino! Feeling at home!” He spread his arms wide, without a care in the world in that moment, the lights bringing out the lighter tones of his fair hair. Lovino found himself smiling at the sight of it.

They blended into the crowd easily after that. Made a few introductions here and there, with Pyry enthusiastically shaking everyone’s hand and almost tackling them in his excitement, while Lovino just chuckled awkwardly and immediately pulled Pyry away from people at the first opportunity he saw. Drinks were passed over to them, apparently in Lakewood parties it was natural to accept drinks even from people you didn’t know. Lovino was more and more liking this place—even Pyry’s growing zeal with every shot he took was tolerable.

Eventually, when the sun has long set and the moon has come out to shine down at Lakewood’s semi-intoxicated student body, someone spoke into the microphone. “Lakewood, good evening,” said a faintly accented British voice, hushing down the lively conversations between newly-formed cliques and all. A golden-haired guy with bushy eyebrows, dressed crisply in a dark suit and tie, stood atop the steps leading up to the main hall, where the supposed stage was. “Old students, we welcome you back to these halls, and to new students, we welcome you as well. We do hope that you find your stay here most enjoyable. My name is Arthur Kirkland, and in behalf of the Amici Curiae, I wish you luck for the upcoming academic year.”

There was a modest applause from the audience, the loudest of which was a couple of hoots coming from a handful of people near the back, holding wine glasses with clear liquid in them and looking properly wasted. Lovino rolled his eyes at them; Pyry stiffened upon seeing them, which didn’t escape his attention.

“Something the matter, Pyry?” he inquired, as someone else took the microphone up in front and made remarks which resembled Arthur’s, only longer and more redundant. Lovino chose to ignore it.

Pyry blinked rapidly, a telltale sign of nerves. “Yeah, ‘course I am,” he said, wringing his hands together. The tips of his ears were red. “I think I just had a little too much to drink, maybe? They have strong stuff here.”

Lovino was raised in an Italian household. He had little to no knowledge of the strong stuff Pyry was talking about; alcohol was a norm for him. “You just have a weak tolerance for it,” he quipped, a corner of his mouth quirked up in a teasing smirk. “But if the parties in this place are all like this, you’ll build it up in no time.”

Pyry mumbled something in Finnish he didn’t understand, a quick yet pronounced string of syllables.

“They’re throwing the pebble! Quick!” someone exclaimed. Both of them drifted along with the crowd toward the little artificial pond in the middle of the quad. Pyry looked relieved to be out of interrogation, and Lovino briefly pondered over it before dropping it entirely. Clearly Pyry was not telling him something, but it was reasonable, given that they’ve only met today, and that Lovino didn’t care that much about whatever it was anyway.

There was a countdown. A long-haired brunette with a huge flower tucked behind her ear stood in front of the pond, holding a polished pebble which gleamed underneath the fairy lights and the moonlight. Students cheered and stomped their feet. Lovino and Pyry did the same.

Drinks splashed and laughter spilled when the pebble struck the pond’s surface. “Happy Ripple Day!” the old students cried ecstatically, and when someone called for a massive group hug, Lovino found himself and Pyry almost crushed breathless in the midst of it.

However, he wasn’t mad or shouting at people to get off. Maybe it was the bourbon, or the strangely minty drink a pretty brunette gave him earlier, but he was laughing, trying to hug strangers, even.

Somehow he understood Pyry’s epiphany. Lakewood was beginning to feel like the home he never had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using Xora's name for Finland. uwu The adorable Pyry!


	3. pre - ii

Two mornings before classes officially started, Lovino woke up sore all over. It was most likely due to the excessive hugging and body-slamming which followed the first ripple late into past midnight last night, and he could not even remember how he’d managed to crawl back into his dorm room. Bourbon, apparently, shouldn’t be taken along with about five more other drinks. He sure did drink heavily occasionally with his family, and wine was a staple during their dinners, but there was a force in each shot Lovino took last night that knocked him into oblivious intoxication eventually. His pride emphasized that it was the exhaustion brought by his ride from the airport to the campus grounds.

A very tiny rational part of his mind worried that he would more likely soon acquire a liver complication rather than graduate from this college, but severely hung over Lovino could only groan at that possibility right now. His arms and legs ached, more so his head.

He needed a glass of water. And breakfast.

The world behind his eyelids brightened suddenly. Grumbling in protest, Lovino pulled up his blanket in a feeble attempt to block out the light. This was when two red flags stood at attention within his beclouded mind: one, he hadn’t taken out the blankets from his bags yet; and, two, he didn’t have a roommate, so who pulled the curtains open?

“Fuck!” he exclaimed loudly when he shot up, a hand flying towards his pounding temple.

“Oh, you are awake now.” A warm voice spoke, startling Lovino even more. He struggled to open his eyes, as the sunlight pouring in from the open window didn’t exactly help ease his headache, and once he did, he followed the source of the voice. Standing beside the window, bathed in morning sunlight, was a stranger with a wild mass of brown curls atop his head and the greenest pair of eyes Lovino had ever seen. They reminded him of pools of moss and ivy leaves climbing the aged walls of the dorms.

Blood pounded in his ears. What had transpired last night—how did he end up here? “Who the fuck are you?” he gritted out.

The stranger’s expression fell. “Eh, you don’t remember me, Lovi? We had so much fun—”

“Don’t call me Lovi, you fucker.” Shaking his head to will the headache away, though it unarguably somehow made it worse, Lovino lifted the blanket off of his body. He couldn’t believe that he’d went home with some stranger—albeit a handsome one, Lovino would grudgingly admit that—on the night of his first day on campus. His grandfather would probably have a stroke.

Lovino didn’t know if he would be disappointed or not at seeing that he still wore his clothes from last night, as that was an indicator that he and the stranger did not sleep together, but he did let out a long exhale. His top was crumpled and smelled strongly of melded alcohol which made him wrinkle his nose.

And where was that bastard Pyry, anyway?

Stranger cleared his throat rather awkwardly. “Well, if it helps? My name’s Antonio.” Lovino gave Antonio a withering glare; he flinched and immediately added: “I have something for your headache somewhere, I think. Give me a second.” As if physically scorched by Lovino’s glare, he all but leapt away from the window, pulling open a cupboard from a corner of the room.

Lovino took this as an opportunity to glance around him. Antonio’s room’s layout was not unlike his own; a standard curtained window, a bookshelf, a desk, and the pantry-like corner with the sink, counter, and built-in cupboards on the upper wall. A major difference was that Antonio’s was very well lived-in, as if he’d been here for years now. The bookshelf was half-filled with textbooks and binders with loose pages sticking out of them, half-filled with various trinkets and souvenir pieces from places from which Antonio has apparently been. There’s a guitar with a missing string leaning against the wall, underneath a huge Spanish flag hung on display. There’s a closed laptop sitting atop a low dresser, and a large mirror stood near the door.

“You’re Spanish.”

Antonio has procured a prescription bottle, and was now filling a glass with tap water. “The flag gives it away, eh? Other people sometimes derive it from the accent.” Now that he’d mentioned it, Lovino began to note the vestige of a foreign accent. It wasn’t quite as strong and as obvious from what he heard in Spanish movies he sometimes watched with his younger brother Marcello, but Antonio had the lisp.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to sass me, bastard. Hand the pills over. My head is killing me.” Lovino waited for him to flinch again, but to his surprise, Antonio laughed now. “I wasn’t fucking joking,” he added in a low grumble, the dulled ache springing to life and hindering him from saying any more insults.

Antonio padded towards him. “Tylenol is fine with you, right? It’s all I have in stock.” Lovino all but snatched the bottle from him with a glare, popping three pills into his palm. “Oh, no, I don’t think you should…well, you’ve done it. Take the water to wash it down, Lovi.”

He glared at the stubborn bastard from behind the glass. “I said not to fucking call me Lovi. Do you have hearing problems or something? Why can’t you follow simple instructions?” He nearly slammed down the empty glass on Antonio’s bedside table.

“Eh, you told me last night that it was your name,” responded Antonio with a helpless shrug.

Lovino’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Last night me was drunk out of his goddamn mind. My name is Lovino. Don’t call me that stupid nickname.”

“But it’s really cute!” Antonio began to protest, but dropped it immediately upon seeing the murderous intent written on Lovino’s expression. He sighed heavily in defeat, then sat on the bed, near Lovino’s feet. “Alright, alright. _Sí_ , Lovino. Do you remember anything from last night?”

Lovino scooted backwards, creating more space between him and Antonio, until his back met the cold wall. “Well, yes, quite. I remember the pebble throwing and the dumb group hug which followed that.”

Antonio’s laughter was warm and loud and it filled up the room like sunshine. “I called for that group hug! It was very surprising when many people actually participated in it! During my freshman year, people just looked at me weirdly.”

He shot him another death glare. “So you were the bastard who insinuated that bullshit.” Antonio, unfazed, grinned and nodded like an idiot. “And what do you mean by freshman year? You aren’t a freshman now?” Which was quite obvious just by looking at the state of Antonio’s room, and his question was such a witless one, Lovino mentally kicked himself for it.

Oblivious to his internal dilemma, Antonio merely scratched at his nape, smile turning sheepish. “Ah, yes. I’m in third year. I major in Economics.” He picked at the bed sheet, turning his face away from Lovino. “I guess you’ll learn it eventually, but you shouldn’t drink too many kinds of alcohol in one night. Especially when you’re given Dangereuse. I learned that the hard way myself personally, see, freshman year. I got shitfaced drunk and I was woken up when the sprinklers in the quad went off the next morning.”

Lovino didn’t particularly care about Antonio’s old drunken mishaps, but it made him snicker all the same. He could also feel his headache dulling into a more tolerable pain. “What the fuck is a Dangereuse?”

“It’s a drink! A particularly strong one only the Friends of the Court know how to create.” When he bobbed his head back up to lock gazes with Lovino, Antonio’s curls bounced along with him. “It’s delicious, most especially when served with ice, and you won’t feel its kick until many glasses later.  Come to think of it, I vaguely remember Chesa approaching us and handing each of us a shot…”

A wide, endless meadow underneath a cloudless blue sky. Lovino stood in the midst of it, eyes focused ahead, losing himself searching for the horizon, where grass met firmament. Chartreuse. Alight with life and a general indication of being in love with life.

Lovino all but jumped off the bed, away from the sincerity and the depth of Antonio’s gaze. “I’m going, bastard.”

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Antonio lived in the building way across the small, park-like quad. It meant that Lovino would have to cross it, and pray to all the gods he knew that no one recognized him as he did so. Waking up in a stranger’s room after a night of intoxication was humiliating enough, he didn’t know what he’d do if someone asked him about it, pointed out that he still wore the same clothes he did last night. He could barely remember the faces and names of people he and Pyry approached last night; and Lovino knew that the people here were not dumb enough not to recognize a walk of shame if they saw it.

He’d barely stepped onto the quad when he heard Pyry’s cheerful voice. “There you are!”

Lovino considered getting into atheism then and there, as ostensibly gods were deaf to his heeding prayer.

He had a choice: he could pointedly ignore Pyry and storm across the quad and into his dorm—much like the tactic he’d done just a few minutes ago to escape Antonio’s room—and lose his very first potential friend in this place, or he could sit down beside Pyry, who was lounging comfortably on the grass, sketchbook opened on his lap, and suffer inevitable doom. Despite himself, Lovino gritted his teeth and chose the latter. After all, Pyry had been a nice companion the night before; well, until he left Lovino to his own devices, that is.

“You fucking let me go home with someone I didn’t know last night,” was his way of greeting, plopping himself unceremoniously onto the grass. A quick peek at Pyry’s sketchbook shown that he was roughly sketching a dog.

“That’s really awesome, Lovino,” Pyry spoke as if he’d never heard Lovino, “you got to score on your first day here! I haven’t heard of anyone doing that before. How was it?”

“Pyry, fuck you and your dumbass dog.” Pyry blinked at him, the picture of pure innocence. Lovino rolled his eyes. “Okay, not the dog. But fuck you. And, no, I didn’t sleep with Antonio.”

“I know that,” replied Pyry sweetly. He picked up a small paper bag from his side and deposited it on Lovino’s lap. “I was just teasing you. You don’t look like the type to sleep with a stranger. That’s a sandwich, by the way, from the mess hall. I thought I’d need it, but you can take it.”

He was about to return the sandwich, but Lovino’s stomach rumbled angrily in protest. Flushing, he ducked his head and pretended to busy himself unwrapping the sandwich. “Well, thanks.” It was a little bland and a little soggy, not at all the exquisite cuisine he was very much used to, but his hunger was stronger than his pride at the moment, so he soldiered on. “Around when did we meet Antonio, anyway? I really don’t remember him from last night.”

Pyry picked up his pencil and resumed sketching. The sound of his charcoal pencil scratching against the paper was sort of relaxing to Lovino’s ears. “The details are a bit hazy for me, too. What I remember is that, after the group hug, someone put up music and people began dancing. More drinks were passed around.”

Lovino remembered vehemently disagreeing to dance. He’d slapped Pyry’s hands away whenever he held them out to him. He preferred to watch people humiliate themselves by trying out the different kinds of dance being played—it even came to a point when someone jokingly put on Tchaikovsky and instead of being reprimanded, some girls drunkenly twirled and pirouetted while the crowd cheered them on.

“And then, I don’t know, maybe that was around midnight? Some upbeat melody played, and you finally swayed to where the dancers are. You were saying that you knew that melody, you’re going to own it, then you danced like how a drunk person would dance.”

Lovino’s eyes were narrowed. Pyry was remembering way too many details.

“Someone joined you eventually. That was Antonio. I heard from someone beside me then that you were dancing tarantella.” Pyry’s sketching hand stopped. He glanced back up at Lovino. “You’re blushing? That’s cute!” With his pencil, he tried to poke Lovino on the cheek.

Lovino swatted the pencil away. “It’s fucking not,” he grumbled. He hid the apparent blush on his cheeks by taking yet another bite on his soggy sandwich. In a desperate attempt to switch the topic, he gestured towards Pyry’s sketchbook with a free hand. “You drew your dog from memory? That’s actually nice.”

Pyry’s gaze was fixed on something ahead of them, unwavering and intense. Frowning, Lovino shifted his gaze towards the same direction. Someone was spreading a blanket over a tiny part of the grass, while a beautiful girl in a long tulle skirt watched him. He then proceeded to take a seat on the blanket, his back to Lovino and Pyry.

“Who are…?”

“Shh!” Pyry waved a hand about, silencing Lovino instantly. “Just watch, okay?” His tone was soft and reverent, weirdly so, which sparked questions in Lovino’s mind, but he chose to remain silent for now.

The guy took out a violin from a case. The girl nodded at him, seeming to encourage him. He put the instrument into position; she tilted her head skyward and closed her eyes.

His first notes were bold and striking, fearless in their execution. Her steps were hesitant, wandering, as if she was dancing for the first time. “Danse macabre,” whispered Lovino under his breath. He didn’t exactly recognize either of the two from last night, yet he could somehow remember someone dancing as reluctantly as she did, dreamlike in his hung over mind, but majestic all the same.

Other students stopped by and watched as well, droopy eyes haunted by the spectacle in front of them. Her tulle skirt bloomed whenever she twirled like a lily, and his fingers worked expertly on his instrument. This was an unusual sight in any other university; Lovino supposed that only in Lakewood would he see something like this.

“Do you remember Arthur Kirkland from last night? Amici Curiae?” Pyry suddenly spoke. His gaze still was fixated on the two, but more particularly on the girl. Lovino couldn’t blame him. She danced like a fairy in a lost wood.

“What of it?”

“They’re the Friends of the Court.” There was an airy grin on Pyry’s face. “An exclusive group for classic enthusiasts, here in Lakewood. They’re actually the reason why I wanted to go here. I want to be part of them.”

Lovino wasn’t an idiot. “Those two are members of it?” he asked, watching as her steps slowed into a halt, while his music played on.

Pyry nodded distractedly. “There’s brief information on the members online, on their page in the web site. That,” he pointed towards the guy fiddling with his violin, “is Raimonds Cirulis, the younger twin. The web site says that he majors in Physics, he is proficient in playing at least three instruments, and that he helps in managing their family business in their spare time.

“The older twin,” he added, this time his grin widening even further than before as he nodded towards the girl, “is Lucija Cirulis. She’s a Linguistics major, and she speaks at least five languages. As what we’ve both seen, she’s also good at dancing.”

Most of the people who have gathered to watch Raimonds and Lucija were now walking away. Lovino’s sandwich was long gone. Pyry’s sketchbook laid face-first on the grass, seemingly forgotten.

Lovino cleared his throat. “I see the charm,” he offered gently. And he did, honestly. The twins looked like they were carved out of a history book: beautiful and intriguing. The whole ordeal of being in a society exclusively for those who endeavored the classics magnified that. But, somehow, Lovino couldn’t see how Pyry would fit in the picture. His easy grin and sunny demeanor didn’t match up with the coldness of Raimonds’ music and the shyness of Lucija’s dance.

A brunette came skipping from one side of the quad, towards Lucija. She hooked an arm around Lucija, her grin rivaling Pyry’s. “That’s Chesa,” Lovino heard Pyry whisper, wide-eyed. “Chesa Julyanna del Mar-Legazpi. Linguistics major, too, and she’s good at painting.”

The three exchanged a conversation which Lovino and Pyry didn’t hear. Raimonds wordlessly packed his instrument back into its case, and Lucija helped him pick the blanket up.

“They’re leaving.”

“I can see that, Lovino.”

Lucija was smiling up at Raimonds. Chesa tugged at her arm. As they were walking away, Lucija briefly looked over her shoulder, towards where Lovino and Pyry sat.

He swore he’d seen her smile at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF. Now we have Antonio, Raimonds (2P!Latvia), Lucija (2P!Nyo!Latvia), and Chesa (my Manila OC) in the story! Things are getting interesting. uwu


	4. pre - iii

“I would never get any moment of peace from now on, would I?” Lovino grumbled, but fortunately for Pyry, he didn’t slam the door closed on his grinning face. “What is it this time, Pyry?” he asked. After the well-nigh absurd encounter with the Amici Curiae’s—beautiful—twins yesterday, Pyry’s spirits seemed to have lifted higher than ever, and he dragged Lovino around the campus on an impromptu stroll. Lovino only got out of it by noon, when he pleaded exhaustion and his terrible need to shower.

After that, he ignored Pyry’s knocking the rest of the afternoon by feigning sleep.

One day before classes officially began, however, Lovino realized with horror that he couldn’t shake the enthusiastic boy away now. He was a person eerily similar to Feliciano; once they got their claws on you and claimed you as their friend, no amount of your pushing away would derail them.

Despite himself, it brought a warm feeling to Lovino. Only rarely did people not give up on trying befriending him in the face of his denial and insults.

Pyry gave an easy laugh. “Come on, Lovino! You already spent yesterday holed up in here. Classes are beginning tomorrow, you’ll miss out the chance to see the rest of the campus through leisure!” His deep blue eyes were twinkling with a happiness Lovino only has seen the day before, when Pyry was entranced in Lucija’s dance. It gave him a nagging feeling; Pyry was most likely to drag him again out of his comfort zone.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Lovino made a move to close the door.

Pyry’s grin disappeared. “Wait, no!” Oblivious to Lovino’s eye roll, he patted his pockets, seeming to be looking for something. He fished out a folded piece of paper and held it out to Lovino. “Clubs are recruiting in the Park. Let’s go join one?” Apparently, as to not confuse themselves, the student body of Lakewood has fondly christened the quad in the midst of the dorm rooms the Park, while calling the larger one in front of Lakewood’s main hall the Quadrangle.

“Clubs are stupid. Bye, Pyry.”

“Lovino,” whined Pyry in protest. In a swift motion, he snatched one of Lovino’s hands and pushed the paper onto his palm. “It’s written in the student handbook that it’s mandatory for students to join at least one club. It says that doing so will promote better communication and will build lasting camaraderie between the individuals of Lakewood.” His expression was dead serious when he said this, and it made Lovino snicker.

“That’s the dumbest thing ever, God.” Shaking his head at the hilarity of it all, Lovino unfolded the paper. A faint whiff of orange blossoms emanated from it. In glimmering gold type, it simply read: _We do not promise much, but we can assure you that joining us will not be a regret. Ab antiquo, Amici Curiae._

Pyry was rocking on his heels excitedly, reminding Lovino of the day when they met for the first time. “It’s intriguing, isn’t it? I passed by their little table earlier and Lucija handed me that. Rumor has it that they only accept three members per academic year.”

Lovino was quick to glare at him. “I should’ve known it,” he said moodily. “It was that Lucija again.”

The easy, faux innocent grin was plastered back on Pyry’s face, his telltale expression that he was being smug at having won Lovino over. “Remember, Lovino. Joining a club is mandatory.”

 

* * *

 

There was a smattering of tables in the Park, flanked by all sorts of students beckoning the wandering freshmen and the few uninitiated upperclassmen to approach them and sign up for their clubs. Many forms of gimmicks were at play: from loud speakers playing songs from a plethora of genres, upperclassmen shamelessly breaking into sidesplitting dances, pretty girls holding up elaborately done signs and placards, to a small, bespectacled girl going about with a tray of muffins. Lovino took one; Pyry didn’t, as he was too preoccupied heading to Amici Curiae’s table to even take notice of the fanfare transpiring around him.

It was by the edge of the Park, underneath the shade of a big tree. In terms of presentation, it was the simplest out of all tables. A plain white sheet was draped over it, an earthen vase overflowing with a visually-clashing mixture of flax flowers and huge sunflowers the lone decoration on one side of it. Behind it sat Lucija. Hunched over _La Silla de Plata_ , her face was calm and pensive as she inaudibly whispered the words to herself, dark eyes flicking over the words quickly. Her crown of deep brown hair was loosely tied by the nape and it shone like melted chocolate from where dappled sunlight hit it, making the flax flowers threaded in it stand out.

Pyry swore softly under his breath.

She glanced up once they approached her table, folding her book closed without so much as placing a bookmark to mark her place. Her eyes were inquisitive and sharp as she took Lovino’s and Pyry’s appearances in. “I recognize you from earlier,” she began, nodding minutely at Pyry, who nodded back more eagerly. “You really have brought a friend along! I assume you two are interested in joining our lovely little club?”

“Yeah, yeah, we are,” responded Pyry, sounding slightly breathless. Lovino glanced at him sideways. “How do we sign up for it, miss?”

Lovino almost laughed at that. It was clearly written all over Pyry’s expression that he knew Lucija by name, so was an indication that he adored her in some way, yet the way he hid his little crush was too obvious and comedic. He succeeded stifling the urge to laugh outright, but it didn’t hinder a smirk from painting itself on his lips.

Lucija giggled sweetly, maintaining a close-lipped smile which looked strangely endearing. “Please, you may call me Lucija.” If she noticed the apparent reverence in Pyry’s gaze, her demeanor didn’t give it away. “Give me a moment, gentlemen.” She ducked underneath the table.

Lovino elbowed Pyry gently. “You just looked like a complete idiot there,” he mumbled teasingly, taking care to lower his voice as despite teasing Pyry was fun, being heard by Lucija didn’t sit quite right with him.

Pyry gave him a half-hearted glare underneath the blooming blush on his cheeks. “Shut it, Lovino. I’ll come off as a creep if I addressed her by name when she hasn’t introduced herself yet.”

Lucija cleared her throat. Quickly they both turned toward her. She was standing now, sheets of paper and pencils in her grasp. “You will have to fill these out,” she said, as if she never heard them talking about her, “and you will have to submit it to the club office. The interview will be held there. Do not worry about getting lost, there is a visual guide at the back of the information sheets and Chesa will be assisting you once you reach Antares Hall.” She finished with a mesmerizing smile, different from the one she had been wearing earlier; it was meant to disarm people and keep their attention on the lovely curve of her lips.

Lovino was the first one to move. “Thank you,” he muttered, taking a sheet and a pencil from her. As if an afterthought, he added: “My name’s Lovino, by the way.”

She watched him for a moment, seeming to scrutinize the planes of his face. “ _Buona fortuna,_ Lovino,” she said finally, her accent crisp on the Italian syllables. “It is nice to meet you.” Lovino only saw it now: beneath Lucija’s shy demeanor was portly grace and confidence. He found himself averting his gaze first, cheeks slightly flushing.

“And I’m Pyry!” butted in Pyry, effectively snatching Lucija’s attention away from Lovino, which he was inwardly grateful of. Having her gaze on him got intimidating the longer he had to endure it. “Pyry Sedric Nieminen. I’m from Finland.”

“Oh, you are?” Lucija’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “That is quite a far place from here, Pyry. And I am very pleased to have met you.”

 

* * *

 

“Why do they have to know shit like businesses my parents own and the schools of my siblings? I thought it was only a fucking classics club?”

Pyry looked uncomfortable, a wince on his face as he perused the information sheet he was halfway done filling up. “I honestly don’t know? Maybe they just want to know more personal information because they’re sort of an exclusive thing? They have their own page on the web site, so…”

Lovino stopped writing on his paper and stared at Pyry like he grew seven new heads. “That’s the second dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, as it doesn’t beat the mandatory club initiation bullshit.”

They sat together on one of the benches in the Quad, having chosen to fill their sheets up before looking for Chesa by Antares Hall to save them trouble. Clouds have begun to block out most of the sunlight so it didn’t hurt to stand under non-shaded areas now, and other students were slowly filling up the grassiest spots in the Quad to nap or to study.

Why Lovino still had not up and gone back to his dorm room was a surprise. It most likely had to do something with his interest being piqued by the mystery—and, loathe he was to admit, the beauty—of the twins and even Chesa herself. That, or he was merely being a dutiful friend to Pyry.

Silence reigned over the two as they resumed filling up their information sheets. Lovino chose to ignore the pervading sense of being intruded by some of the more specific questions and he answered them to the best he could. There was a section asking him to elaborate on his skills and talents, another one asking for a few examples of influential people to whom he looked up, and there was a checklist of classic works—he only checked _Inferno_ and _Paradise Lost._

A shadow loomed over Lovino’s bowed head. He scowled down at his paper, before looking up. Clouds covered the sun yet her smile rivaled sunlight, Lovino almost looked away. He scooted backwards, scowl deepening as the smiling brunette with her pearly white teeth and rosy cheeks watched him with curious dark eyes.

She didn’t look like a sister to Lucija, but sometimes, when people stuck with one another together for a long time, some of their elements blended altogether. Or it was her aura; despite being more talkative and more prone to smiling than the older Cirulis twin, there still was something enigmatic about Chesa—she smelled of the lingering scent of acrylic paint. Lovino scrunched his nose up.

So this was what Chesa looked like up close. If Lucija was like the moon, cool and shy, she was the sun, blazing and full of radiance.

“ _Paradise Lost_? You’d get along with Raimonds very well!” she cooed, her smile widening, to the point that she had to close her eyes because of it.

Lovino cleared his throat. He hoped that his discomfort was splayed openly on his face. “You must be Chesa, then,” he said with a tiny nod. “Get out of my fucking space, please.”

Undeterred by Lovino’s coarse attitude, she shifted her attention to Pyry, who sat gawking at them, the star-struck expression reserved for members of Amici Curiae on his face. She bent over his paper, making a surprised sound at what she’d read on it. “You’re from Finland? Wow, that’s far from here!”

“Eh, well.” Pink dusted Pyry’s cheeks and he nibbled on his lower lip lightly. “My parents were carried away by my passionate speech about wanting to go to Lakewood?” he sheepishly offered, which sent Chesa throwing her head back in laughter. It wasn’t an obnoxious sound, Lovino thought, not the kind of laughter some people who wanted to draw attention to them belted out. Chesa’s laughter was natural and somewhat infectious, Lovino could already feel himself loosening up.

He inwardly wondered if being in Lakewood would soften the tough exterior he had built for himself. The Lovino he was before stepping into this place wore his scowl as his mask, not letting anyone, not even his siblings, come close, lest he would immediately bite.

“Amici Curiae is the home for passionate people like you,” Chesa said once she was done laughing. For the first time, Lovino noticed the thermos bottle she was holding: it was short, silver in color, and it dangled from a cord wrapped around her thin wrist. It followed the movement of her animated gestures. “It will be my pleasure to bring you to our little office, then, gentlemen. Come along! We don’t want my impatient, sweet little Raimonds to be mad at your tardiness.”

She sent them a playful wink, tipped her head back and took a long swig from her bottle. The rosiness of her cheeks turned up a notch afterwards, the smile on her face faded into a lazy grin. She beckoned them with a curl of her fingers to follow her into Antares Hall.

Chesa regaled them with funny anecdotes as they passed through the low-ceilinged building, meeting a few students and faculty members here and there. Apparently she was sort of popular, as most of those they had passed by offered her greetings and wide smiles. Lovino found himself stealing a glance at Pyry as Chesa led the way; he had been quiet ever since Chesa took over the talking, and was offering only short comments and bursts of laughter when necessary. That, and he actually understood Chesa’s pathetic attempts at speaking Latin and imitating Raimonds.

Lovino was only realizing that he could be wrong about thinking that Pyry wouldn’t fit into Amici Curiae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucija was reading the Spanish translation of Narnia's sixth book, The Silver Chair. HAHAHAHAHAHA.


	5. pre - iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A filler chapter. Idk how things will go from this point onwards, but fuck me if I will not try.

“Would you be flip me off if I ask you to critique me as I run my lines for my audition piece?” was how Chesa broke the ice. She and Lovino sat on the floor outside Amici Curiae’s office. Jasmine aroma filled the air; Chesa had offhandedly mentioned that Arthur thought of lighting jasmine-scented candles inside the office so that the interviewees wouldn’t be “too daunted.” Mockingly she had giggled at the statement, making air quotes as if she apparently didn’t buy Arthur’s bullshit.

It was a one-on-one interview to a club which inquired intensively about one’s family background. Lovino, contrary to Chesa, thought that Arthur’s insight was correct. One bounded to be afraid to push through with an inquisition of that intensity. At least, he was. Not that he would admit it to her beaming face, however.

He raised an eyebrow, not amused. She was getting to her feet now. “Audition piece for what?”

There it was again, her bright smile. Her flask made a sloshing sound as she moved her wrist to push her fringe out of her face. “Class play. I major in Linguistics like Lucija, but I’m also taking theater classes on the side.”

Lovino stared.

“I think we’re only doing Hamlet,” she continued, with a thoughtful furrowing of her eyebrows. “As, you know, Shakespeare is very mediocre. And we’re only second years, so it makes sense! Don’t mention it to Artie, though. He’d be mad at me again if he finds out I’m still badmouthing his God.” She giggled to herself. Her hands went to her hips, and her lips parted slightly as she breathed through the mouth. “But apparently not. It’s not Hamlet, not even Shakespeare—”

“Well,” said Lovino irritably, cutting her rambling off. She wouldn’t give him a choice anyway, would she? “We don’t have all day. Get on with it.”

Chesa made a _tch_ sound, though she struggled to hide an amused smile. “How impatient.”

There was a beat of silence, a fleeting moment which apparently was enough for her demeanor to switch to something else.

She fell to her knees with a loud, almost sickening thud, making Lovino start in surprise. His eyes wide, he took in her hung head and her trembling hands. Tentatively, he reached out with one hand. “Chesa, what the fuck, are you—”

Chesa crossed herself slowly. “ _Ave mari, gratia plena, Dominus tecum._ ” She brought her shaking palms together in prayer. Her head whipped up so quickly, Lovino thought he heard her neck crack. Gone were the smile and the felicitous sheen in her eyes, both replaced by an ominous, trancelike expression.

Lovino retracted his hand.

“ _Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen. Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, Sancta Maria—”_ She gasped loudly; he scooted backwards, his back hitting the wall. “ _Sancta Maria_ , why have you forsaken me? In the hour that I needed you, you closed your eyes and let me suffer. I, your most loyal servant, who have devoted my whole life in service for your Grace. Was it not enough?”

So this was her audition piece. With that knowledge in mind, Lovino let himself relax a little, so he could also pay attention to her monologue better. Her flask dangled from her wrist like a rosary, catching and reflecting dulled sunlight, the same rays which framed Chesa’s form, creating an illusion of a halo above her head.

“Did it bring you perverse delight, hearing my muffled, agonized screams as the rotten priest tore me apart and licked at my body like I was some candy for Christmas? Or did you keep your omnipresent eyes open, watched every second of it with indifference.” Her voice was hoarse; tears streaked down her cheeks. Lovino thought that she would do well in the audition if she did it this way—it was bitter and vulgar, borderline blasphemous, yet it was strangely captivating. He didn’t know if it was anger or disgust or pity, the emotion stirring within him. “Mankind is at the mercy of the gods, they said. Yet the gods are either blind or deaf towards our cries of help.

“I sought nothing but help for my beloved, the only thing I have desired greatly in this life. Always I have been contented with singing You praise and giving You thanks, even if You have always turned a blind eye to the sorrows of my family. It is the only one I ask for, Mother of God. Help my beloved. Use me as Your tool in alleviating misery my love does not deserve. Give me searing pain, smother me with suffocating darkness. Tear my limbs apart and take the very thing I have been saving for my dearest—” Chesa took a shuddering breath, faltered on her words. Lovino tensed. “But, then again, it has already been done. As You served as some twisted kind of voyeur, Your son’s rotten follower had defiled me. Turned me from the inside out for the heavens to see. Pinned me down with strong arms and even stronger fingers.”

Her voice trailed off. Lovino watched as Chesa bowed her head again and stayed silent for a moment. She heaved a dry sob, then a piercing wail came out of her. It surprised him; Chesa was too small and too harmless, he couldn’t imagine her making a sound like that.

And it was all supposed to be an act, yet she somehow made it feel real. As if she’d really lived through the apparent Hell her role had lived.

Her flask gleamed bright silver.

“ _Sancta Maria…”_ Chesa’s voice was small and hoarse. “ _Sancta Maria, Mater Dei…”_

“Does compassion not exist in heaven?”

Both he and Chesa turned towards the source of the unfamiliar voice which has resumed Chesa’s monologue for her. It was a tall, bespectacled guy with the same brown hair as Chesa, although his eyes were as deep as Lucija’s, yet devoid of the inlaid mischief within hers.

Lovino was able to derive that conclusion as the older Cirulis twin stood beside the stranger, eyes bored into Chesa in curious delight. “T'hat was wonderful, Chesa,” said Lucija, clasping her hands together, a serene smile lighting up her face.

Chesa looked like a deer in the headlights. A mixture of surprise and recognition—and was that a hint of alarm?—splayed openly on her face as her gaze locked unwaveringly at the stranger. “Nem,” she breathed finally. She staggered when she tried to stand up; Nem quickly assisted her in getting to her feet.

His grip on her forearm stayed as his gaze flicked towards Lovino. “Hi, there,” he greeted, voice possessing the same enthusiasm Chesa’s always had. “You must be wanting to be one of the Friends of the Court as well, yeah? I’m Nem. Nice to meet you.” He didn’t extend a hand to be shaken; Lovino didn’t initiate it as well, etiquette be damned.

“Sure,” he replied in a clipped tone. “Lovino.” Who was Nem, and why was he so familiar with Chesa?

Nem shot him a sunny, albeit wondering smile, before turning his gaze back to Chesa. “I’m happy you’re still using my monologue.” He released her from his grip, though his hand hovered close to her arm. Using the back of his palm, he gently wiped the tears forming in Chesa’s eyes. “You make a really great Juli, yeah? Do you still remember the rest, Chesa?”

Lucija stepped forward. “Is it why she is named Julyanna?” she quipped, to which only Nem laughed. She pouted childishly. “I am very grateful that Nem here appreciates my jokes,” she said, glancing sideways at Lovino.

He merely blinked, feeling like an outsider looking in on this exchange.

“What’s the joke?” Nobody has noticed that the door to the office even opened. Pyry stood by the doorway, expression too bright which only meant that his interview had gone well. It didn’t falter even if no one answered his question. “Oh, hi! I’m Pyry, and I’m from Finland.”  He extended his hand to Nem, which the other eagerly accepted.

“Really?” Nem asked, sounding genuinely interested. As soon as he let Pyry go, his hand immediately found Chesa’s arm again. “That’s far from here, Pyry! How did you convince your parents to let you come here?”

Pyry opened his mouth to answer, but Chesa’s somber statement was quicker. “I think you need to go in now, Lovino.” Her smile was back in its full, bright glory; she gestured towards the open door. “Remember, Raimonds hates to be kept waiting!”

“Of course, Raimonds,” responded Lovino dryly, but he raised two fingers in a farewell salute and stepped through the doorway anyway. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Nem’s upbeat inquiry on who Raimonds was.

The jasmine aroma was considerably stronger inside the office, that was what Lovino first thought as he took it all in. It was surprisingly sparsely decorated, opposed to what he’d imagined the office to look like: a space full of towering shelves heaping with books. The main furniture was the round table and the wooden stools surrounding it; there was a lone shelf in the corner, a low table in one holding a tea set.

Someone stood in front of it, a blond guy pouring something into a cup.

Raimonds Cirulis sat on one of the stools around the round table, arms crossed and lips turned downwards. “Lovino Vargas,” he called out with a voice so devoid of enthusiasm, Lovino found himself missing Chesa’s company a tiny bit. “Take a seat.”

“Raimonds hates to waste time.” The blond guy—Lovino assumed this was Arthur as he looked familiar as well—carried a tray with two cups on it. He placed it onto the round table, then gestured towards one of the unoccupied stools. “But I do hope you have a nice story for us. Pyry had one.”

“I still can’t believe he came from Finland, bastard had some balls,” muttered Raimonds as he ducked his head to look at the papers laid out in front of him.

Lovino took his seat. He watched as Arthur picked up his cup by the handle daintily. “What am I supposed to say,” he began dryly, “recount the entire financial history of the Vargas family?”

Arthur raised thick, blond eyebrows at him, a hint of an amused smile barely showing from behind his cup. Raimonds looked up, deep blue eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

“Finally, someone who’s not a fucking kiss ass.” Raimonds leaned back on his chair, crossing his arms against his front. His uptight expression from earlier had relaxed a bit. “And you can tell us whatever story, Lovino. We don’t care which.”

“Someone had recounted _The Canterbury Tales_ before and switched the characters up,” said Arthur. His sea-green eyes lit up with the recollection. “It was quite the exercise for the mind, if I am going to be honest.”

Raimonds shot him a withering look. “I did that because I was bored, and there was no way I could actually tell you something interesting,” he said, though his lips curled upwards, in a seemingly acerbic way of being fond of Arthur. “You’re fucking welcome, by the way. You had a field day when I showed up.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and didn’t respond any further. They both glanced back at Lovino, who still has no clue on what to say.

Raimonds gave an impatient wave of a hand. “Fucking fine. Go tell us about your family’s finances.”


	6. interregnum - i, the skeptic

“We don’t have all day.” Raimonds shuffled through the signed papers so forcefully, the tiny office was filled with the sound of rustling paper. Arthur said nothing, but he did hum thoughtfully as he kept on sipping his tea.

Lovino didn’t have a clue on what to say. In hindsight, getting into this pretentious club was not his idea anyway. It was Pyry’s. And Pyry did serve them a wonderful story—according to them, it was interesting enough—but what could Lovino offer? How he’d lived his life under his brother’s shadow?

Feliciano’s image flashed across his mind too brutally, suddenly, he almost reeled back in his seat. It occurred to him then that he hadn’t been thinking of Feliciano lately, or of his family in general, that was. He did call his grandfather the day he moved in, but that was that. The rest of his days in Lakewood was consumed by Pyry’s presence and the inviting mystery of the Amici Curiae.

He was too lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard Arthur get up and fetch a cup for him. “For your nerves,” he muttered softly, gently placing the cup in front of Lovino. Grey smoke wafted from it in delicate curlicues, and the bittersweet aroma of something he couldn’t identify filled his nostrils. “Let it sit for a few minutes,” added Arthur. He offered a quick smile, then he was back beside Raimonds.

Maybe it was the tea, or maybe it was Arthur’s encouraging smile. Hell, it could even be Raimonds’ scrutinizing stare. But Lovino found himself opening his mouth to speak.

 

* * *

_“Once upon a time, there was a boy_

_with eyes the color of melted gold_

_which shone with intellect and wit_

_despite the fact that he was unloved—”_

* * *

 

“I was born in Naples, Italy. It was a beautiful place, not that I remember it vividly. We moved away when I was about six or so, just after Marcello was born, so I can’t exactly remember our old house for how it was. If I concentrate, I’ll see a clear, blue sky, and the hot sunlight beating down on my skin. There was a field full of grass and wildflowers, and the wind was fresh there. My earliest memories were of running back and forth across the field, my arms spread like I was a bird about to take flight. The grass blades tickled my bare feet’s soles, but I had no care in the world.”

As he spoke of the Vargas’ Napoli ancestral house and its sprawling lawns and gardens and the sea a few minutes’ walk from its back gate, Lovino immersed himself in a daydream he rarely let himself have. The jasmine scent of the room seemed to metamorphose into the tantalizing smell of the rosebushes that were his grandmother’s pride, into freshly-cooked pasta sauce courtesy of his father, the Vargas specialty, and into salty breeze which he embraced during his shoreline walks with his father at dawn.

“There also was the sea. It was common to hear the crying of the gulls whenever we took walks by the shoreline at dawn, my father and I. I used to get nightmares. My screaming would wake the entire household, so my father took it to himself to begin distracting me by taking me down to the beach. He told me stories, some of them real and some made-up, but I didn’t care. His voice soothed me and kept the monsters away. Childish, ‘no?”

Raimonds picked a piece of paper from the pile, tacking it down with a finger. He didn’t look at Lovino while he spoke. “You have two siblings, Feliciano and Marcello.”

Lovino resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, and if you just wanted to fucking talk about them, we should’ve called them instead.” The trance was broken. He was back in the Amici Curiae’s office, Naples gone a lifetime away, and he was quite embarrassed for letting his guard down for a moment and speaking of details of his past he usually kept to himself. They might think him hilarious now.

To hide his annoyance, he picked up Arthur’s tea and took a sip. It tasted like it smelled—bittersweet, hints of lemon and orange providing a citrus flavor he despaired to chase. Yet for all it’s worth, Arthur was correct. It indeed had a soothing effect.

“No.” Raimonds sounded amused. “They aren’t here in Lakewood. It means they didn’t have it in them to be with us. But you do.”

“Here you are,” Arthur chimed in, raising his cup as if he was toasting to Lovino’s presence.

Someone put a cold hand on Lovino’s shoulder, and he nearly jumped in his seat. Catching himself on time, he glanced up at the intruder instead. Lucija smiled serenely down at him.

“What Raimonds meant, Lovino, is that he found it amusing that you put your brothers’ names in when the question merely asked if you had siblings.” She gave him a gentle pat, then flitted away to busy herself with Arthur’s tea set. “Do not mind me. I will be serving tea outside.”

“What she said,” cut Raimonds sharply, though his gaze, unreadable and intense, was trained unwaveringly at Lucija’s back. “Carry on, Vargas.”

 

* * *

  _“—by his own family, there was a_

_boy who was a bright flame in_

_his own right but served as the_

_shadow to his siblings instead.”_

* * *

 

Following Raimonds’ gaze, Lovino muttered, “I hate my siblings.” It was probably the humiliation—albeit somewhat tamed by a few sips of Arthur’s tea—still roiling within him, or his resentment at witnessing siblings with genuine affection for one another right in front of him; Lovino didn’t take it back.

Lucija turned to lock gazes with her twin. They shared an indecipherable look, then Lucija was focused on her task again. In all honesty, it was the first time Lovino had uttered that sentiment aloud. His resentment—and, loathe he might be to admit it, envy—towards Feliciano and Marcello were always buried under sarcasm, a bad temper, and some choice insults thrown at them every chance Lovino got.

“Feliciano was always better at me in the hobbies we both picked up when we were children. He could fucking paint an apple and make it seem real enough to actually eat, while I could only imitate reality at my best. The apples I’ve painted always looked like painted apples, not real ones. He could cook up a goddamn storm, while I nearly burnt our kitchen trying to boil water. Marcello, on the other hand, was charming. Everyone loved them because Feliciano was talented and Marcello always had a smile on his face. I had nothing but insults and frowns. Nobody liked me.”

 _Except for father, maybe,_ a calm voice in his head supplied helpfully. Lovino shook it away.

“Are you saying that people were wary of you?” asked Arthur.

The spoon clinked against the teacups as Lucija stirred them. Lovino scowled at Arthur.

“What the fuck do you mean by that?”

Arthur evaded the question with a quirk of his lips and a quick shake of his head. “Do you remember why you had to leave Naples?” he asked again, staring openly as confusion crossed Lovino’s face. For some reason, their departure of Naples was one of the memories he couldn’t dig up however he tried. All he could remember was Feliciano wailing as they boarded a plane and Marcello bundled in his baby blanket, sleeping soundly.

Lucija exited the room without another word, her long tulle skirt flaring up behind her as she did so. Lovino caught Pyry’s affable voice offering to help her carry the tray. He even glimpsed Nem holding his arms out to Lucija, sunlight glinting off his glasses. Raimonds silently trailed after her with his gaze, sharp as a hawk’s.

“There’s an old saying about Lakewood,” said Arthur, obviously avoiding Lovino’s question, again. “It’s not to be found by those who aren’t seeking it. It will come to the doorsteps of those who deserve to be in it.”

Lovino felt a cold chill creep down his spine. The brochure endorsing Lakewood came into the Vargas’ mailbox one autumn morning during Lovino’s final year of high school, seemingly out of nowhere. It was addressed to the Vargas household in particular, but with Feliciano’s plans to fly to Düsseldorf already set in stone, it had been not a question which brother would consider it. Lovino snatched the brochure and hid it under his pillow as soon as he got his hands on it.

“Did you send that fucking brochure to my house?” His voice wavered on the last word, yet he didn’t find himself caring. What did they mean by Lakewood seeking its own students? It housed only a few hundred students from thousands who had applied—that was what the acceptance letter had implied, that thousands of students from all around the globe had applied for a slot in the prestigious university. Was that a fabricated lie, to imply the air of exclusivity?

Another million questions made themselves heard in Lovino’s head. All questions he’d been subconsciously asking himself recently, even the ones he’d shoved locked into a mental box, vowed never to be thought of ever again.

“Breathe, Lovino.” Arthur’s voice was sweet and soothing. “Take a sip of your tea again, please. It will ease your nerves.”

The cup, earlier an innocuous object, now seemed ominous to Lovino—what if it was drugged or poisoned? He knew he was exaggerating at this point, but he couldn’t help it. These people seemed to have pried into his personal life already, guessing from their knowing gazes and cryptic words.

Lovino gave a firm shake of his head. “No, fuck, no. Not until you answer my goddamn questions. Not until you stop being creepy, pretentious motherfuckers.”

 

* * *

 “ _He did not believe in magic or in_

_love or in friendships or in nymphs_

_and enchanting music from violins_

_or in poignant paintings and_

_impromptu storytelling sessions at midnight_.”

* * *

 

Arthur had the audacity to look hurt. His sea-green eyes lost some of their shine, and he leaned back against his chair, seemingly sinking into his self. The open amity on his face had melted into indifference. Lovino had a foreboding feeling that this was how Arthur usually looked; that he had been only playing a part earlier to bait Lovino into joining them—this crazy club.

He was turning to leave when he heard and saw it.

Softly at first, mere disbelief, then it evolved into him almost doubling over and slapping the table with a palm repeatedly. Lovino calmed his breathing as he watched this unbecoming behavior coming from Raimonds Cirulis, of all people.

“You’re freaking him out,” muttered Arthur to Raimonds. He was trying not to smile.

When his violent laughter finally receded to a soft chuckling, Raimonds raised his head. Brown curls fell back from his face. “If there was someone we’d stalk and set up into attending this carny-house of a university, it wouldn’t be you, Vargas. Nor would it be your brothers, for they seem to be boring fuckers.” He cocked his head and met Lovino’s gaze directly. “But I’m relieved it was you. You’re fucking hilarious.”

Lovino’s face burned and his brain threatened to scream. “I’m not—I’m not a fucking joke!”

Raimonds howled with laughter once again. Arthur now seemed a bit lost, as if he watched a joke he didn’t quite understand unfold.

 

* * *

  _“Yet this did not faze the warmhearted_

_boy from the land of blizzards and snow_

_who handed him the embers of friendship_

_and the bewitching nymph who gave him_

_excitement and a racing heartbeat and the—”_

* * *

 

The door swung open with a loud crash and Chesa and Pyry both stumbled in, with Lucija trailing from behind. The two wore faces of concern, while Lucija was just confused. Nem wasn’t with them.

Pyry was the one to crack the question. “What’s happening?” He indicated to Raimonds, who now had his face buried in his two hands, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

Lucija shot Lovino a heedful look. “Did you say something funny?”

If this was another scenario, one in which Raimonds wasn’t breaking out in laughter like a lunatic, Lovino might have straight up began tearing up from the mere pressure of it. “If my childhood was a funny fucking story,” he responded hotly.

Chesa burst into giggling herself. With a cheer, she skipped over to where Raimonds sat, and tackled him from behind with a crushing embrace. “I haven’t heard him laugh in so long, Lovi! I think he really likes you.” Lovino wanted to reprimand her for using such a dumb nickname, but what she’d said struck him—Raimonds Cirulis, with his caustic tongue and withering glare, liked him? _Lovino?_

He glanced at Pyry, who, for the first time in their short knowing of each other, wasn’t busy making moon eyes at Lucija. Instead, he was beaming right at Lovino. _We’ll get in,_ he mouthed.

Finally, Raimonds’ laughter died down. He gently untangled himself from Chesa’s arms. When he looked at Lovino again, there was no dreg of hatred in his ocean-blue eyes. There was the offering of friendship. If Lovino wanted to take it.

“You don’t realize it yet, Vargas, but you’re just like us.”

 

* * *

“ _—bright-eyed boy the color of forest foliage_

_who taught him the highest art of magick:_

_Love_.”

* * *

 

 

 


	7. pre - v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks later, Lovino sees Antonio again.

The first two weeks of classes flew by almost boringly. Lovino saw less of Pyry, apparently his coursework was tough even in the beginning, so he had less time for hanging out; he wouldn’t admit it to Pyry’s grinning face, but Lovino missed his company and his sunny smiles. The members of Amici Curiae he saw even less. Sometimes he glimpsed them in the hallways amid classes, as they parted crowds with their mere presence and left people gawking at them in their wake. More often he saw Lucija and Chesa together, as they shared the same major, arms linked and long brown locks done up in similar plaits. From afar, they looked more twin-like than Lucija and Raimonds, but up close one would see the nuances in their appearances.

Lovino saw Arthur as well, once, in a cool Thursday afternoon when he was rushing back to the field to retrieve a book he’d forgotten on the bleachers—Arthur was flushed red and his usually coiffed-up hair looked trampled on by ostriches, he’d barely acknowledged Lovino as he rushed towards the main building.

One thing Lovino noticed about Lakewood was that it didn’t make isolation feel suffocating. He didn’t feel pressured to join friend groups and cliques, as he saw lone wolves not unlike himself more often than not. A sanctuary of those who never belonged, he’d heard one of his floormates say in passing, and he agreed without reluctance. Lakewood made solitude feel like freedom.

Over the course of days and homework blurring into one another, he’d received a few calls from his grandfather. Most of them asked if Lovino was settling in alright, and if he had stories to tell his old man. The welfare of his siblings deliberately not breached, as Lovino knew as well as his grandfather that he would hang up no sooner than the words _Feliciano and Marcello_ left his _Nonno_ ’s lips.

Announcements of those who passed the screenings of clubs weren’t to come until tomorrow. He wasn’t worried about not getting into Amici Curiae—although he thought that he should care a bit more about it, as not getting into a club would surely be a foul, if Lakewood’s peculiar rules were to be strictly followed. Well, Lovino thought to himself, if Pyry was absolutely sure that they would get in, who was he to worry?

Another strange thing he noticed was that he never saw the Friends of the Court in the dining hall. It was a place one only read about in books; not even his old private high school’s cafeteria didn’t match up to its elegance. While mundane dining halls smelled of grease and ketchup, Lakewood’s smelled strongly of brewed coffee. It had gleaming, polished floors, rectangular tables with metal benches flanking both lengths arranged neatly in rows. A great chandelier hung unlit from the ceiling, surrounded by more modern fluorescent lamps which emitted strong white light; round stained glass windows portraying scenes Lovino couldn’t recognize peppered the wall opposite the lunch line, letting in multicolored light from outside. He imagined he’d find Lucija and the others here, occupying the table in the middlemost part of the hall.

The Friends of the Court holding court in the heart Lakewood, to the awe of the students around them.

He had been very disappointed when, after three consecutive days of _definitely not checking,_ he had come to conclude that the Amici Curiae didn’t eat their lunch in the dining hall.

It also meant that Lovino had no other choice but to find himself another place wherein he could eat in peace. His and Pyry’s lunch schedules rarely matched, and even when they did, Pyry always was rushing to be in another place, a sandwich hanging from his lips and his hands waving frantically in goodbye to Lovino.

He did enjoy his solitude, that was for sure, but he would never enjoy it in a large dining space, filled with chattering and clinking of cutlery, students comparing notes to one another and laughing at each other’s jokes. Sometimes he fled to the field, relished the gentle breeze on his skin as he ate what he could get from the dining hall that day, or he secreted away into the library, poring over a book as he hid bites of a sandwich in between pages.

Lovino scanned today’s meal choices silently, when he saw Antonio approaching him, out of the corner of his eye. He immediately tensed up, having forgotten Antonio’s existence conveniently as of late. He considered running out of the dining hall, but his stomach lurched angrily in protest and his feet wouldn’t move. “Ah, _cazzo._ ”

“Lovino! My friend, good morning!” Antonio thankfully didn’t step into his personal space, but the grin on his face made Lovino’s insides churn. He convinced himself that he was hungrier than he had expected.

“Yeah, hello,” he grunted in reply, turning his cheek away to look at the menu again.

Antonio moved beside him. He caught a faint whiff of the other’s aftershave which surprisingly smelled nice. “Lakewood’s culinary staff is something else, I tell you,” Antonio said breezily. Lovino turned to see him already focused on the food, lower lip jutting out in a concentrated pout. “They make the worst sandwiches, but they bring particular cuisines to life as if you really were eating in that particular country. Their _paella_? Ah, _Dios,_ I feel like I’m back in Pamplona whenever I take a bite.”

Lovino got himself a small bowl of Japanese _suigyoza_ and a saucer of _carrillada_ , to Antonio’s insistence. He gave the selection of sandwiches a longing gaze, then he was ushered by his rather compelling companion to an empty table. His mind screamed at him to protest, but the sight of Antonio’s inviting smile clammed his mouth up. Tomorrow, Lovino promised himself, once he found out if he was accepted into Amici Curiae or not. He would swallow his pride and sit with the pretentious fuckers instead of suffering through this queer racing of his heartbeat due to Antonio’s sunny Spanish smiles.

“So,” began Antonio right before he dug into his own _paella_ , “how are you finding Lakewood so far, Lovino? Any club you’ve set your sights on?”

“Amici Curiae.”

Antonio almost spit out his _paella._ “Amici Curiae?” he asked, eyes wide in alarm and confusion. “Why them?”

“Why not?” Lovino suddenly felt defensive. “They’re not that bad.” At first, they were, he admitted that, but eventually they turned out to be nice. Even that was something Lovino had to admit to himself, albeit grudgingly so. Chesa was a sweetheart and Lucija was nice in her own way, Arthur’s tea served its purpose and Raimonds surprisingly had an endearing laugh.

Lovino’s cheeks flamed. He was starting to be like Pyry—fallen into the Amici Curiae trap, bewitched and borderline gone for good.

“Of course, of course,” conceded Antonio. He set down his spoon and fork on the table. “Lucija is the furthest from bad, I do know that. But the others?” He shook his head.

“What about the others?”

“Chesa is a darling, though she’s very flighty,” a heavily-inflected voice drawled out, the owner of it a tall guy with long blond hair tied at the nape. He gave Lovino an appraising smile, then took the empty seat beside Antonio. “You know it, Antoine. You only favor Lucija because—”

“Enough.” Antonio’s sunny countenance had disappeared, in its place a frown and in his verdant eyes a brewing storm. “You act as if you were never part of them, Francis.”

Lovino’s gaze traveled back and forth as if he was watching an intense match of tennis.

“I was kidding.” The same apprehension had crawled into Francis’ tone as well. “I respect Lucija as much as you do, and love her even more than you can imagine, as I’ve taken her under my wing last year. We, however, must not erase Chesa out of the equation when it comes to choosing which Friend of the Court is the best.”

“Francis?” called out Lovino, effectively catching the guy’s attention. “You were part of Amici Curiae?” They all looked so tightly-knit altogether, siblings by choice if not by blood, and Lovino couldn’t imagine that someone could wrench themselves away from that kind of knot.

Francis’ expression grew somber. “I quit.” Now that he got a good look at Francis, Lovino saw the Amici Curiae in him: pressed dress shirt, a bright mandala-print scarf hanging around his nape, the faint smell of roses wafting from his very form, the knowing look in his azure eyes. “Ah, _okonomiyaki._ You choose well, _mon ami._ May I know your name?”

* * *

Hours later, Lovino lay silently on his bed, listening to the sounds of activity wafting in through his open window and ajar door. The rest of their lunch had gone in heavy silence, with Lovino opting not to shower Francis with questions regarding his departure of the very club Lovino himself had applied to get into. Antonio was silent as well and didn’t even try to crack dumb jokes for once. Lovino left their table as soon as he was done eating and headed to his next class without so much as glancing back at the two.

Francis quit Amici Curiae. He walked out on the twins and their music, on Chesa and her stories, on Arthur and his tea. There were things one admitted only during their loneliest. For Lovino, it was the realization that he yearned for a place in which he would fit—a place he didn’t find back at home and with his siblings, but a place he could find with Amici Curiae.

The off-white envelope, only as large as his palm, rested above his study desk. It contained scented craft paper, stroked on with stark black script, done by a meticulous yet clumsy hand Lovino could only guess was Lucija’s: _Lovino Vargas, you are now one of us._

Whatever Francis’ reason was, he decided, it wouldn’t hold any bearing. Lovino would not leave Amici Curiae.

Not when he still could hear Raimonds’ sweet laughter echoing at the back of his head, beckoning him to not leave. To stay.


End file.
